Backstories and Ideas
by Seren Flaidd
Summary: A place for bits of writing I have used to develop ideas and characters. Snippets of stories. Will probably contain OOC behaviour and AU as well as cannon.


Jard McKinnon was young, handsome and rich. It was not something he was grateful for. The year was Nineteen eighty three. The war that had seen every member of his family murdered, along with many of his friends and acquaintances had ended two years ago. Since that time The Ministry had largely had to rebuild itself from scratch. Many 'Death Eaters' were still evading prison and McKinnon, who was supposed to be working in the Department for the Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures, had spent the years since his family's deaths working for the judicial system, trying to bring the Wizards and Witches responsible, for their murders, and equally horrible crimes, to justice. It was difficult and unrewarding work.

Currently he was struggling with Alphard and Wallburga Black. The entire Black family had fought for Voldemort in the war. All but Alphard, Wallburga and Andromeda were now dead or locked up. Andromeda had married a Muggle born Wizard and had a little girl. McKinnon did actually believe she had no part in the war. But Alphard and Wallburga, brother and sister, were heavily involved. Wallburga, a close 'friend' of Tom Riddle in school and beyond, had given her name to the Death Eaters, yet claimed to have no part in Riddle's rise to power after her marriage. She'd given her husband two sons. The younger, like her husband, was now dead. The elder, the Black heir, was locked in Azkaban, charged with multiple counts of murder, but guilty of so much more. He had worked as a spy for Voldemort, betraying and causing the deaths of a whole network of Wizards and Witches, including McKinnon's own parents and little sister.

As far as McKinnon could see, the only reason Walburga Black was not in Azkaban was because it was impossible to get at her, as her whereabouts were completely unknown, and had been since the midst of the war.

Her brother, Alphard, lived alone in London. McKinnon had vague paperwork, connecting him to both the Order and the Death Eaters. Like his treacherous nephew, Sirius, there was little evidence to _prove_ Alphard's involvement. What McKinnon did have were a collection of Death Eater documents that had, ironically, been 'stolen' by _Sirius_ Black, during the war.

Even now, McKinnon found Sirius' stolen documents bizarre; because they really did appear to have been stolen, and they really had provided the evidence and proof needed to convict nearly every Death Eater sent to prison in the following years. Sirius had, supposedly, stolen them from the Lestranges, related to both him and McKinnon, during a violent fight, in which Sirius had attacked Rabastan Lestrange so violently that he had stripped the flesh off both his arms, leaving every member of the household unconscious, and the building on fire. Rabastan Lestrange had avoided imprisonment as a direct result of this fight, when both parties had struck a deal out of court. Despite this, the stolen paperwork contained detailed accounts of funding from other important families, names in attendance at Death Eater meetings and strangest of all, the actual location of Voldemort. The _correct_ actual location, which had nearly brought the war to an early conclusion, and a victory. Why Sirius, who must have already been working as a spy for Voldemort, had done this apparently unbelievably heroic and _useful_ act, remained a mystery. Regardless of why the traitor had, these documents remained priceless in proving _willing_ involvement by important Wizards, resulting in convictions.

Sirius' papers though, held a mystery. On three of the documents a name was clearly hidden. At the time, this had apparently gone unquestioned. After Sirius was revealed a spy and a traitor, it was only natural to assume that the hidden name was his own, and so it was with mild astonishment that McKinnon had his eyes down the list of names only to discover the hidden name had revealed itself and it was not Sirius' name at all. It was that of his little brother, Regulus Black.

Regulus Black had been missing and presumed dead, since early in the war. It was possible he was in hiding with his mother, but not if the confessions of convicted Death Eaters was correct. McKinnon had been astonished to discover that the concealed name was not, as everyone assumed, Sirius'. If either of the other names belonged to Sirius' uncle, also not named as a Death Eater anywhere, McKinnon would finally have the proof to get Alphard Black into Azkaban. The trouble was, McKinnon had no idea _how_ he had revealed Regulus' name. He had been tapping the parchment absently with his wand, on and off probably for much of the morning, when he'd held any number of conversations with other people in the office, as well as dictating a couple of letters. Despite repeating anything that sprung to mind, nothing triggered either of the other hidden names. And it was for this reason that, on a dismal autumn morning, he set out for the WCC.

The Werewolf Containment Camp had been set up during the war, when the Werewolves had joined forces with Voldemort, and launched a mass campaign of violence, assault and infection, mostly of children and the young. Stripped of their status as beings, they were deemed unsuitable for sentencing to Azkaban, and were instead sent, when caught, to a containment camp on the far edge of the Black Forest.

The Werewolf McKinnon was searching for was as bizarre a case as any he'd dealt with, in his own role in the Dep. for Control and Regulation of Dangerous Creatures. Born into a wizarding family and infected at a young age, Remus Lupin's condition had been kept hidden by Albus Dumbledore, himself, who had accepted him as a student in Hogwarts. In gratitude, during the war he had lived with the Werewolf's, spying for The Order of the Phoenix and apparently trying to convince other werewolves to change sides.

This, in itself, was strange enough, but Remus Lupin had also been bosom-buddies with Sirius Black. They had left Hogwarts together to share a flat with Peter Pettigrew; the last wizard Sirius Black had murdered before his arrest.

.

The WCC was protected by high fences and a great deal of magic. It was lost in mist, and the dew on the long grass had soaked the bottom of McKinnon's cloak, which he removed carefully and left with a well-mannered guard, before being escorted into the camp.

Remus Lupin was young, probably still in his twenties. Like all the Werewolves McKinnon had dealt with, his most frightening attribute was that he didn't appear frightening. He looked like a young man, with dark brown hair and a world-weary expression. He sat at the table opposite McKinnon with little interest. The guard, apparently unaware how dangerous he could be should the mood take them, wandered off to make McKinnon the tea he'd been offered when he first arrived.

.

Mckinnon explained to the werewolf who he was. Lupin nodded, without giving much indication that he understood. In some countries that McKinnon had been to, the werewolves did understand very little; thrown out of their own communities and living in the wild with actual wolves. They were the ones McKinnon tended to feel almost sorry for. British Werewolves were a dark and unpleasant breed, usually passing themselves off, as Lupin had, as human. During the war usually purposefully infecting those around them.

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"Do you understand what I'm saying?" McKinnon asked, finally. The werewolf nodded. The guard gave McKinnon his tea and the werewolf watched him lift it to his lips before clearing his throat.

"Yes." He said, in a soft hoarse voice that betrayed his education and acceptance in society. "Yes, you're from The Ministry. Did you think I could help you?"

"Yes." McKinnon said, taking another mouthful of the steaming tea and holding the cup, warming his fingers. "Albus Dumbedore claims you passed information to Wizards during the war. That you betrayed your own kind repeatedly to help us." The werewolf considered it for a moment before he nodded.

"Yes. That's true." He said, emotionlessly.

"Good." McKinnon said. Although it was good, in every sense of the word, there was something unpleasant about anything that betrayed its own kind. "You understand what Death Eaters are?" He asked.

"Yes," the werewolf said. He did. According to the file McKinnon had on him, he'd successfully passed himself off as a Wizard and had left school with 'Outstanding' in Defence against the Dark Arts, as well as in Care of Magical Creatures and History of Magic.

"You were living with Sirius Black when he went on his killing spree," McKinnon said, taking another mouthful of tea and studying the werewolf's sallow face. "You had lived with him since he left school." It was met with silence. "I know you were." McKinnon assured him. "You lived with him and with Peter Pettigrew."

"Yes." The werewolf snapped, abruptly; a dirty hand rising to his temple for a moment. McKinnon just watched him, but the werewolf said nothing else, gazing at a corner of the room, somewhere out of McKinnon's line of vision.

"He stole documents from the Lestranges." McKinnon pressed on, finally. "I assume you know. It caused a lot of excitement at the time?" Another nod. "On the documents, Sirius used some sort of concealment charm, at least three times. He was hiding names."

"His name." The werewolf said, in its soft raspy voice.

"That's what everyone assumes." McKinnon agreed. "I revealed one of them. It wasn't his name. It was his younger brother's, _Regulus_ Black."

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For the first time the werewolf looked up; eyes as shadowed and weary as his expression. "I tapped the parchment. A phrase revealed the name. It wasn't Sirius' own, at all."

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Remus Lupin considered this and for a moment he closed his eyes. When he opened them, his expression was quite unchanged. "They weren't close." He said, quietly. "He said…" He tried, unsuccessfully to clear the huskiness from his voice, before continuing. "At the time, he told me he'd removed Regulus' name from the documents."

"Sirius Black _said_ he was concealing his brother's name, on the stolen documents?"

"Yes." The werewolf agreed, emotionlessly. "He did say that. I don't understand…" And he stopped again, gathering his thoughts, perhaps, before he continued. "I can't help you," he said, instead. "I don't understand why he did it. All I can tell you is that he was very clever and that nothing he did during the war suggested he had changed sides, which was how he got away with it for so long."

"Yes. That is what I concluded as well." McKinnon agreed. "But you actually heard him say that he was hiding his brother's name on a list of Death Eaters? Who did he say that to? Did you see him do it?"

"He told me he had." The werewolf said. "He was upset, or pretended he was, that his brother had been there. He was already dead; Reggie. It didn't make sense to remove his name; tampering with such an important document to protect someone already dead. I thought he did it for sentimental reasons at the time. That's what he was like. Afterwards, I just thought he'd lied. That it was his own name he'd hidden."

"That's what wizards concluded as well." McKinnon said. "But on at least one document it was his brother's name. I'm trying to find evidence to connect Alphard Black to the Death Eaters. He's Sirius' uncle. His mother's brother. Super rich and influential, but he kept a very low profile during the war."

"I know who Alphard is." The werewolf agreed, softly. McKinnon nodded, watching the young pale face, weary eyes considering before he spoke again.

.

"Alphard gave Sirius money." He said, finally. "A considerable amount of his inheritance. Without that, it would have been very hard for Sirius to get free of his family."

"Right." McKinnon said. The werewolf didn't acknowledge him.

"Sirius said his mother burnt them both off the family tree." He added. "If it was all lies…" He considered it in silence. McKinnon watched him, thinking that the slightly haggard face of the werewolf was strangely beautiful. Not in a pretty way, of course. In the way of sea cliffs, beaten into hard angles by relentless seas, but still standing. There were a lot of hard masculine lines, an intensity in those shadowed eyes, as they gazed into some foreign past, where he had walked undetected amidst wizards and lived alongside an infamous murderer.

.

"I think the split with his family must have been staged from the beginning." The werewolf said, finally. "It's the only thing that makes any sense to me. There was no point after that... If he had changed sides, there would have been something, some moment of conflict some change in him. So, I think he must have been loyal to his family from the beginning. He was very loyal. I imagine it was all fake, the disowning. Alphard had to giving him the money, so he could get the flat."

"In which case Alphard would have to be working with them as well. So it's very likely that Sirius concealed his uncle's name, to hide his connection, and thereby his own connection to then. Maybe he said he'd hidden his brother's name, and did, to make it more convincing."

"Maybe. He was very clever." The werewolf offered.

"If Alphard had had to give Sirius the money, that allowed him to leave his family, that would explain why he was so careful not to be connected to the Death Eaters." McKinnon concluded. "And Sirius may have concealed his name; and his dead brother's, as a cover story. Who did you overhear him say this to, that it was his brother's name?"

"He said it to me." The werewolf said, hoarsely. "And to Albus Dumbledore, I believe. Maybe James, as well. James Potter."

McKinnon nodded but he studied the werewolf, thinking hard. "…How?" He asked, finally. "How did that happen. Surely he didn't just turn to you randomly and say that he had stolen documents that would incriminate the Wizards giving money to the Death Eaters but that he'd hidden his brother's name on them. You do actual seem to be being honest, but why would he have said that, to you, to a werewolf?"

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The werewolf considered it for a moment, gazing at the dusty corner again before he looked up at McKinnon; looking for a moment at his dark hair and clean expensive clothes, before finding his eyes.

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"Well." He said, finally. "He told me that I was a wizard, inflicted with a miserable condition. He made me believe that… It was nice. He treated me like a human being… Sirius Black was beautiful and passionate and I loved him. I loved him, totally. We talked about things. We _rowed_ about things. We rowed about that, about him doing that. He told me how much it hurt to see his brother's shaky teenage signature on those parchments. That Reggie was dead at seventeen. That he couldn't harm anyone else or be brought to justice for what he'd done, and he was still his little brother. His brother, who he'd failed in life to protect. It was just one last small pathetic act, to try and ease his aching conscience; to try and protect Reggie's name.

"That's what he said, anyway. That a confused pathetic part of his brain was still trying to protect a little brother he knew was already dead. That is how I feel, telling you this. That a confused and pathetic part of my brain feels like I am betraying… him." He covered his mouth, lips pressed tight together, pretending to rub them, for a moment as he composed himself. Failed to compose himself, moving the hand up until it covered his eyes, his face.

"I'm sorry." He said, calmly, a moment later. "Yes, he said he had hidden Regulus' name. But I imagine he could have said it to explain hiding Alphard's name. Not to me. We were just talking about it, afterwards. I wasn't there when he gave Albus the documents. But he could have said it, to make the lie as real as possible. I don't know what he lied about, even now. He was that convincing."

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McKinnon thanked him, politely, and left the Werewolf Camp; but the werewolf didn't leave his mind.

The words the werewolf had finally said, at the end of the monotone conversation stayed with him. '_He told me that I was a wizard,_ _inflicted with a miserable condition … Sirius Black was beautiful and passionate and I loved him… He treated me like a human being…"_

McKinnon considered this a lot. Sirius Black was a very good looking boy. Handsome, with an aristocratic beauty and a lot of wild black hair.

'_And I loved him_.'

What sort of werewolf said things like that? What sort of man said things like that? About a mass murderer.

.

He was not surprised that he found himself back at the werewolf camp, although he had a respectable list of questions to explain his visit. The werewolf, Remus Lupin, looked like he'd been fighting, which werewolves did a lot, in McKinnon's experience. Lupin didn't look like the fighting type, all mild manners and misery, but he didn't look the type to turn into a slavering beast that tried to murder and infect innocent men, women and children, either. Appearances could be deceptive, and never more so than with Werewolves.

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"I don't know how I revealed Regulus' name." He explained, his breath leaving mist in the cold room. The werewolf was wearing uniform brown robes, darned and patched. They didn't look very warm, and for the first time it occurred to McKinnon that the single cup ot tea he was warming his hands on was sort of inappropriate. He put it down, interlocking his fingers and looking at his parchment.

"I wondered if you remembered anything about the money Alphard gave to Sirius. Of course he would claim he didn't know Sirius was a traitor, but if we could prove he gave him money."

"Alphard paid for Sirius' flat." The werewolf said, at once. Apparently he'd been thinking about their conversation as well. "Sometimes he gave Sirius the money in person, if there was something he wanted. Usually he paid it. I'm sure there would be a paper trail. Do you want the address?"

"Yes." McKinnon assured him, passing over the parchment with his questions on, and searching for a quill and ink. He watched Remus writing the address, his own old address, where he had lived with Sirius Black and little Peter Pettigrew, blown to pieces in a street of Muggles.

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It took McKinnon a moment to realise Remus was reading the questions that he'd written to ask him, and he shifted uncomfortably, good manners preventing him from snatching the parchment back; which was silly, with a werewolf.

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He was reminded of Remus' comment, on his other visit. About Sirius saying he felt the urge to protect a dead little brother that he'd failed to protect in life; as Remus himself felt disloyal speaking of private feelings spoken by what he had believed to be a good man. And in the same way McKinnon hesitated to take his parchment back off a beast, a dark creature, that looked and spoke like a man.

He reached across the table and took the parchment back. Like many of the werewolves, Remus Lupin was rather broad-shouldered and masculine. He looked considerably less meek and pathetic, with a straight back and eye-contact.

'_He told me that I was a wizard, inflicted with a miserable condition… It was nice._'

For a moment McKinnon was rather disturbed. Presumably that had been more than 'nice'. Why would Sirius Black have done that?

'_He treated me like a human being." Remus had said. 'He told me that I was a wizard, afflicted with a miserable condition. He made me believe that_.'

_Made him believe that?_

McKinnon had been party to dealing with a couple of the children bitten by werewolves. He had seen disbelief and denial in their parents, unable to accept that what had been their child was destroyed and beyond hope of salvation. It was an awful thing and had stayed with him, the horror of it repeating in his mind. But this, the idea, a werewolf convinced by a wizard that he was still human, that McKinnon had never come across before. And it wasn't Sirius alone that had done this to Remus Lupin. Surely Albus was as guilty, taking an infected child into a school, concealing what he was, making him act the part of a student.

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"You actually believed you were still human?" He asked.

The werewolf considered this, rather carefully, and nodded.

"Yes." He said, in that distinctive hoarse voice. "I did. It wasn't just him; Sirius. Albus was very good to me. And my friends. James and Peter. And Lily."

"But it was different with Sirius." McKinnon said. He hadn't managed to make it sound enough like a question. It wasn't really a question.

"He loved me." Remus said. "Or I thought he did. He was good at what he did. He was good at _everything_ he did. Alphard's vault was number seven hundred and seventy one. Gringots may have a document they both signed, giving Sirius limited access to it, until Alphard's death. Alphard didn't have a wife or family and never intended to. Sirius was the Black heir as far as he was concerned…" .

It took McKinnon a moment to realise that Remus had started on his list now, answering the questions about Alphard's vault and why at only forty-something he was still unmarried and certain he was leaving his inheritance to his nephew. "…As you suggested on your parchment, 'a very confirmed bachelor'." Remus said, softly. McKinnon glanced at him, but found no trace of humour in the pale bruised face. "…The original Secret Keeper was Gideon Prewett. He cast the spell with James. He was an auror and James' mentor. When he and his wife were killed, at a safe house, along with his brother, James and Lily had to appoint their own Secret Keeper. It would never have been anyone but Sirius. He betrayed the Prewett's whereabouts, as well, of course. And the McKinnons… Dorcas Medows. Mary MacDonald. So many people… I'm sorry, I can't remember what your fourth question was."

McKinnon looked down at the parchment in his hands, for a moment. "Possessions." He said. "The auror's went over Sirius' flat after he was arrested, but they never found anything. But they weren't looking for information on Alphard. I wondered if any of Sirius' possessions survived and if you knew where I might look for them."

"I don't know." The werewolf said shortly. "I only went back to the flat once. I didn't take anything that wasn't mine. It was the second flat, paid for by James, I think. The address I gave you was for the first flat, it was found by Death Eaters and burnt. Any parchments would have probably been lost then."

"Right. Good. And do you have any idea what concealment spell Sirius might have used on the hidden names. I think it was revealed with a tap of a wand and a verbal command."

"Maybe. I could try, I suppose. No, I _could_ try. If you would bring them here, I would try."

McKinnon considered this, uncertainly. The documents, proof of nearly a hundred Death Eater's guilt, were invaluable. The idea of a werewolf that knew how to use a wand was disturbing enough, suggesting he should arm one; just stupid.

"I won't be able to bring the documents." He said. "Maybe you could write a list of word combinations I could try."

"Yes, of course." The werewolf said, politely. "I would need a parchment and quill."

"Of course." McKinnon removed his own, setting them carefully on the table. "You were educated at Hogwarts." He said, looking over the Werewolf, who was probably only five or six years younger than he was. He wasn't sure what he'd meant to say. Only that suddenly it had disturbed him, the idea of a life without access to parchment and ink. "Do you read?" He asked, although he hadn't been going to say that. The werewolf smiled, an actually rather self-effacing smile.

"I did." He said, simply.

"I could bring some books." McKinnon said, uncertain still of what he was saying. "If you'd be interested. Books I've finished with."

.

Did you ever 'finish' with books? Not, surely, unless you hated them anyway. Remus considered it, maybe as taken aback as McKinnon felt having suggested it. Quickly the werewolf smiled again.

"No." He said, softly. "No, thank you. Thank you, though." McKinnon nodded, collecting his notes with a quick polite smile of his own. He left the werewolf sitting at the table, pale and lost in sombre thoughts of the past.

.

A week later he finally managed to get through the red tape, to research Sirius Black's flat, for evidence of Alphard's involvement with the Death Eaters. He couldn't remember ever seeing a photo of the flat in the papers, at the time. The first address, the flat Alphard had paid for, was not even on file.

The second flat was still empty, unsurprisingly. It was in a Muggle area of London and much smaller than any flat McKinnon had been in. It had been turned over by the auror's and left ransacked, but it looked like it had never been that clean. The wallpaper was peeling and there was damp in the small kitchen; yogurt pots of dried-up dead herbs on the windowledge. There was a towel hanging up to dry in the chilly tacked on bathroom, used either by McKinnon's werewolf, the mass-murderer or his friend and last victim, little Peter.

The living room was messy. The sofa and cushions ripped open and pictures slashed, in search of evidence.

There were only two bedrooms. One not much bigger than a box room, still containing a hoard of potions ingredients, half used spell bottles, dried up mouldering food, and a chaos of books, clothes and knick-knacks. The master bedroom was rather empty, presumably because things had been removed to be examined. The bed was stripped of linen; shelves and cupboards had been emptied out, but the walls were still decorated with well stuck photos, a Gryffindor banner addressed to Sirius in a barely legible script, which McKinnon suspected was James Potter's. Many of the photo's had also clearly come from the family Sirius had betrayed to Voldemort. Pictures of the baby Harry through his first year of life, unmistakably the werewolf, Remus, asleep in a school dorm, with a pet rat snoozing against his neck. There were sketches as well, ink on parchment, good drawings that were mostly of animals, signed with a signature he couldn't deciphered. He looked around the flat for anything the aurors may have missed in the last two years, but they'd been pretty thorough.

The first flat, never addressed by the aurors was still burnt out. Also in Muggle London and equally small. McKinnon looked round it but discovered nothing new.

He stopped in the master bedroom, where the metal bedstead had survived the flames, warmed by the heat. Like every room in both flats, the windows were barred, securely enough to contain a Werewolf.

Owing to the full moon he had to wait an extra week before returning for Remus' list of Sirius' possible reveal spells. McKinnon took the documents with him, tucked into his jacket.

It was snowing and the WCC wardens all looked cold and fed up. The camp was freezing. The walls of the bare rooms and corridors iced with frost, and a chilling wind blowing endlessly through the glassless barred windows.

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Remus had already been taken to the door with the table and two chairs. There was already a steaming cup of tea waiting for McKinnon. Just the one.

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McKinnon didn't come fully into the room, straight away, looking at the other man, the werewolf, silently. And then he came and sat down, opposite him.

Remus carefully passed over the list, the quill and ink. He hadn't skimped on names and phrase; the parchment was covered on both sides. McKinnon thanked him, looking at the werewolf's cold bruised fingers, torn off nails, and sickly pallor; unmistakable signs of a werewolf.

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"You're a werewolf." He said, finally. "All your kind supported Voldemort. Did Sirius never talk about swapping sides?"

"No." Remus said. "He was perfectly convincing."

"But you were very close." McKinnon said, searching the werewolf's increasingly familiar face. "And you were a werewolf."

"I was loyal to Dumbledore." Remus said. "Sirius would never have, the Sirius I believed was real, would never have fought against James and Lily."

"But he did." McKinnon said. The werewolf said nothing. McKinnon passed him the untouched cup of tea. "I've just had one." He said, taking the parchment and looking at the sea of words.

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"…I went to the flats." McKinnon mentioned. "I didn't find anything."

"…I think it was all burnt." Remus said. McKinnon glanced up at him, smiled quickly, before taking out the papers.

"It may take a while." He said. Presumably Remus had nowhere else to be. Mckinnon took the list and tapped the list of Voldemort's financial backers for the first time.

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It did take a long time. Neither of them drank the tea. Occasionally Remus corrected his pronounciation on a random name. Most of the phrases meant nothing to McKinnon, although they must have meant something to the werewolf, and to Sirius Black. But none of them revealed the concealed name. An hour later McKinnon swapped the list of money givers for the other collection of Death Eater signatures and started again. The name revealed on the second attempt. It was again Regulus Black. The both watched the ink filling invisible veins. For a moment they both merely stared at it, before McKinnon carefully gathered his things together.

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"Thank you." He said. "It worked."

"I'm sorry I didn't know the other one." Remus assured him. "Of course I didn't know him as well as I thought I did. I didn't really know him at all."

"No." McKinnon conceded uneasily. He looked over the other man again, searching for something that made sense about it. The man-like creature, that had clearly known the mass-murderer Sirius Black _very well_. Maybe better than anyone. And was now here he was, waiting to die, in dirty brown rags. "Well, thank you." He said. "And that, it is a reflection on him, not on you. He was a monster."  
"Yes." The werewolf nodded. "We both were. I'm sorry I couldn't help you more."

"You have helped. Good bye, then." He said. Remus nodded, his hand moving a fraction as if for a moment he meant to offer it to the man in front of him. "Good bye." He agreed.

.

He still couldn't find any evidence to link Alphard to the Death Eaters, nor did he manage to prove that he was the link between Sirius and his family. Remus had been correct about the vault and the money passing between uncle and nephew, but as McKinnon had predicted Alphard Black claimed to have been as ignorant as everyone else of his nephew's true alliance. McKinnon couldn't see what else he could do and he had no further reason to return to the WCC.

~o0o~

It was the spring of '8 when the Dept. was approached by Damocles Belby, an eccentric be skilful potioneer, who was trying to create a potion to curb the violent tendencies of Werewolves. Something the Ministry happily allowed.

Damocles Belby was rather famous; a short well rounded man, with a bushy white beard, and shiny red cheeks. He sort McKinnon out on a quiet morning in March, when McKinnon was less snowed under than usual.

Belby had apparently known his father, years ago, and asked McKinnon if he had time to help with his research.

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"You've been here before?" Damocles asked in surprise, when the guard greeted him at the gate.

"A couple of times. Looking for evidence connecting Alphard Black to the Dark Lord." McKinnon said.

"Did you get anything on him?" Belby asked, ushering him into a side room, where potions equipment covered every wall, liquids dripping, steaming, condensing and bubbling up and down through multiple glass spirals and from phial to beaker in what looked like an endless cycle.

.

McKinnon was reasonably competent with potions, but this looked mind-blowingly complicated.

"It doesn't work yet." Damocles told him, "but I'm getting there. You'll need dragon-hide gloves." He nodded to the table, pulling on a battered apron. "Moonshine's kit is going to be too big for you. Any good at resizing spells, Jard?"

"I'm competent." McKinnon said, bending the tough leather to loosen it. "…At most things, I'm competent. Jack of all trades and Master of none."

"Mysterious." Belby chuckled. "This is my life. I eat breath and sleep it. I kill more than I cure, currently, but once I can get the potion stable… I know I can get it stable. It needs something…" And he wandered off, rooting through a cupboard of ingredients, as McKinnon adjusted the size of the presumably chunky Moonshine's apron, to fit his own lanky frame.

.

"There are nearly a hundred werewolves here." McKinnon said nonchalantly, clearing a filter, when Damocles came back. "How do you choose your test subjects?"

"There were. The camp lost quite a few in that really icy weather in January." He caught McKinnon's expression and smiled. "It's not ideal." He assured him, but after what they did in the war, it's hard to drum up sympathy for them. Shouldn't lose many now, until the summer. It's unsanitary, once the flies start buzzing the place is rife with disease. If I haven't made a break through by then, I'll have to set up somewhere else, get some funding off The Ministry, if I can phrase it right." McKinnon nodded, feeling stupidly alarmed.

"How many died in the cold snap?" He asked, calmly.

"About a tenth of them." Damocles said. "I think we've got eighty three currently. I had to shuffle my control group about a bit. Annoying. It's still fatal, mostly, the wolfsbane potion. I don't know why. It's something…" And he wandered over to tap at a dripping pipe, frowning. McKinnon watched him for a moment.

"Damocles, what group is Remus Lupin in? He's about twenty five, dark brown hair. He was a spy for our side in the war."

"He was a spy for our side?" Damocles asked, doubtfully. He went over to his desk, unrolling parchments. "…Group D." He said. "Can't think who he is. I only tend to notice the children, and I don't run tests on them. Or the women. Did you know him, before he became a werewolf?"

"No. I met him here. He was helping me, this business with Alphard Black."

"You'll never pin anything on him. He's too slippery. I'd be interested to meet a werewolf that fought against Voldemort. Maybe you could introduce me?"

"He's in your group B." McKinnon reminded him.

"Oh yes." Damocles agreed, kneeling down to strike a bubbling cauldron with a tuning fork, closing his eyes to listen to the vibration. "But that's different." He pointed out. "I have to focus on the magic. Let me add some burdock to this and I'll come now."

"Right." McKinnon said. "Of course."

.

Remus was actually pacing the room, slightly nervously. He looked better, presumably because it was a new moon or something, but better than McKinnon remembered him; tall and rather attractive, with messy hair and dark stubble. The brown camp robes were starting to look like rags, but the werewolf looked strong beneath them, not like he was going to be killed by a cold winter or pestilence.

.

"I'm glad you're well." McKinnon said, moving briskly into the room. He actually took Remus' hand, not thinking it through properly, because he was a bit stressed out and hadn't actually expected Damocles to suggest this, or for this to happen. He had spent far too much of the winter in his warm lodgings, thinking about Remus Lupin.

For a moment the werewolf looked purely startled, but then utterly smoothly he played along with this, taking McKinnon's hand warmly and returning the greeting, taking Damocles' offered hand as McKinnon introduced him.

.

Damocles flicked his wand, setting out the meal they had brought with them, bread, cheese, fruit and wine, and demanded to know exactly what Remus had done during the war and why he'd chosen to help The Order of the Phoenix; pushing food on the Werewolf while he talked and pouring them all goblets of wine.

Although McKinnon had taken the time to find out what Remus had done during the war, as much as was on record, it was very strange to hear him talking about it. He sounded so very human, and looked human. McKinnon actually knew, from reading the werewolf's confidential files, that he was playing down what he'd done during the war. Although he spoke of the Potter's deaths, and Peter Pettigrew's, with as much sorrow as any human would, he never once mentioned the mass murderer who he had shared a home with; a room; a bed. Just talked politely, and interestingly, about the past, before asking politely about Damocles' experiments, as if he was required to pretend his was not a guinea pig for them.

.

Eventually Damocles enquired if he'd eaten enough and apologised for the need to press on with his work. He shook Remus' hand again, holding it between both of his own and begging him to remind him they'd met, when they ran into each other during his experiments, as he would probably be shamelessly preoccupied; then waited with them while McKinnon also took his leave. McKinnon did, in the same polite fashion, wanting to thank Remus for humouring the whole thing, and to drop the pretence but of course totally unable to.

They worked through the afternoon and late into the evening, tweaking the potion and administering it to Test Group A.

McKinnon did toy with the idea of asking to speak to Remus alone but wasn't sure that the conversation wouldn't just make everything even more awkward – I talked about you to the point where people assumed we were proper acquaintances, for which I'm sorry. Thank you for playing along with this, oh, and by the way, I'm frightfully sorry that when I came to you for help, which you freely gave, breaking spells that no-one else could have, I treated you like an unclean animal. Which was ironic because when I think about you, I don't think about you in such a way at all. I'd like to shake your hand without any pretence and… sorry? Yes, McKinnon felt sure that conversation wouldn't be awkward at all.

Test Group A were given Potion A daily for one week before the full moon. Test Group B were given Potion B every other day for a fortnight before the full moon. Test Group C were given Potion A the night of the full moon, and Test Group D, Remus' group, were given Potion B on the night of the full moon. Pretending that he didn't have an ever increasing backlog of work, McKinnon stayed to help; not, he told himself, to see Remus again.

"I don't think it's right." Damocles said. He was studying his potion formula, staring at the page for a moment longer before covering his face with his hands. I think it's wrong." He stated. "It isn't right."

"What isn't right?" McKinnon demanded, failing to sound as tense and alarmed as he was.

"It's not right." Damocles cried, rushing to one of the cauldrons and whipping the flames beneath it into a fury. "It's not hot enough." He cried. "I'm sure it's not hot enough. It needs something else."

"Do you want the first one?" The guard asked, putting his head round the door.

"No!" Damocles cried. "No! Not yet! It's all wrong!" And he started yanking pipes and pulling bubbling bottles off the heat, pouring whole cauldrons away, and throwing in random handfuls of new ingredients. McKinnon, the guard, and the test subject all watched in transfixed horror. Twenty minutes later enough liquid had trickled through the glass tubing to fill a gobblet. It was thick and pink and bore no resembalance to anything any of the other Werewolves had been given over the last fortnight.

"Better." Damocles pronounced, bringing it over, and brandishing it at the shackled Werewolf, who stared at the goblet, lips pressed into a thin line.

"Drink it." The guard prodded him. The werewolf merely stared at them for a moment before shaking his head.

"Get another one." Damocles decided. "I don't want it to cool down."

"I'll get it down him." The guard assured him, and he took the goblet and the terrorfied werewolf out of the room.

.

"Are you sure it's safe?" McKinnon demanded.

"No." Damocles looked up at him in surprise. "That's what we're doing? Testing it? So we know what it does?"

"You just changed it, completely." McKinnon pointed out, his voice actually shaking. Damocles looked up, considering this.

"I changed it back." He said. "It was more like this before. Something's not right."  
"Almost everything in this potion is toxic." McKinnon pointed out. "They're going to die."

"The toxins cancel each other out." Damocles defended his potion, fiercely. The wolfsbane will attack the wolf and not the human mind. The puff fish venom will counteract that toxin in the wolfsbane… It's too complicated. This is better. I'm sure this is better… It'll be worth it in the end." And he gestured for McKinnon to be quiet as another nervous werewolf was brought in. They watched him drinking the strange pink liquid in silence, and being lead out.

"How many werewolves are there in Group D?" McKinnon demanded.

"Five." Damocles said. "Now. There were more. It was wrong. The potion was wrong. Potion A is less toxic, but it isn't really _working_."

"I don't want you to give this to Remus Lupin." McKinnon stated. Damocles' eyes brightened with understanding.

"Your friend." He said. "The one who spied for the order during the war. He's in Group D."

"Don't give it to him." McKinnon said. Damocles sighed.

"It's not that simple." He said. "All the original Group B died when they stopped taking the potion. I'm sure it's right, Jarl. It's right like this."

"How sure?" McKinnon asked him.

Damocles consider it, seriously for a moment, before answering honestly; "I am sure one day what I create will benefit more victims of lycanthrope than its creation harmed."

He turned back to the door where the guard was waiting to bring Remus in. He was one of the few test subjects who was not shackled. "Ah, Remus." Damocles said, brightly. "We were just talking about you. Do come in. I believe the potion loses stability as it cools. We are just waiting for the goblet to fill. I hope you aren't feeling too ill."

"I'm fine." Remus said, softly. He didn't sound hoarse, a full month since the last full moon, although he looked ill. He watched the dripping pink potion for a moment before looking for McKinnon in the room; whose attention he already had.

.

"I wanted to speak to you." Remus said. Damocles smiled vaguely at him, before going over to the potion and again changing the direction of one of the tubes.

"I was actually going to speak to you." McKinnon assured him, feeling rather stupid and embarrassed. "You were really very helpful, the information you gave and your time. I feel I was rude."

"You sat down and ate with me." Remus said. "I wanted to thank you, for more than that." McKinnon studied the other man's gold flecked eyes, uncertainly. He was not actually sure what 'other things' they were referring to.

"…I failed my Potions OWL." The werewolf added, looking back at the chain of beakers and cauldrons that stretched the length of the room, connected by swirls and spirals of glass tubing. "Never know which goblets going to end it."

"Drink half." McKinnon said. Remus looked up at him, sharply. "I don't know a lot about potions." McKinnon assured him, but I think you should drink half."

"You think it's going to kill me?" Remus asked him, quietly. He looked back at the dripping liquid for a moment before he smiled at McKinnon.

"I'm serious." McKinnon assured him. The werewolf stared at him for a moment before he smiled again.

"It would be a blessing." He said, gently. "How long are you working here?"

"I'm not sure." McKinnon said, honestly. "Just helping out while it's quiet at work. Damocles was a friend of my father, Michael McKinnon."

Remus considered this for a moment. McKinnon watched him thinking, watched everything about the way his pale face changed, the lines and angles, thinking that he would die tonight if the potion was wrong. "You never told me your name." Remus said, finally. "I knew Marlene. She was very brave and lovely."

"You were at school with her, weren't you?" McKinnon said. "Where you actually in Gryffindor."

"That's where the hat put me." Remus agreed.

"Did it say anything to you?" McKinnon asked him, slightly awkwardly. "About you being a werewolf?" Remus shook his head.

"No. It said I was brave. What house were you in?"

"Ravenclaw." McKinnon said. "But Marlene was in Gryffindor... You know." He added, imagining fleetingly, his dead little sister, in those familiar halls and corridors, with the werewolf, the Potters, the murderer Sirius Black. "You must have been there, when I was taking my NEWT's." He added.

"Snotty little second year." Remus said, with a trace of a smile; a human beautiful smile.

_Did Sirius Black love you_, McKinnon wondered, as he often did. _Did he want a werewolf for some plan he never brought to fruition? Did Sirius plan to frame the werewolf for his crimes? Or did he actually love him? Could you share a bed with someone for three years without it meaning anything?_

"I don't know a lot about potions," Remus said, again. "But I like to think I'm quite good at reading people's body language. I do have to drink this potion, and if it is fatal, then it is. I am an ideal test subject… Mr McKinnon."

"Jarl." McKinnon said. "I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself properly, at the beginning."

"Why would you?" Remus waved it off. "I know it's Jarl; it just seemed a bit presumptuous to use it. Marlene actually talked about you a lot. She used to say there was nothing you couldn't turn your hand to."

"She had so much to live for." McKinnon said. The werewolf looked him in the eye for a moment, before he nodded.

"I go easy into that dull light." He stated, before crossing the room and quickly drinking the pink liquid Damocles had been waiting to give him.

"Take your time." Damocles told him, brightly. "I must take some readings off all the groups. Perhaps you could take your own here, and save me the effort. Shan't need me here at all soon, will you?" He added, with a chuckle. Remus smiled politely, watching the potioneer to the door before taking his own pulse, on his wrist. McKinnon watched him for a moment, before making himself busy, straightening the papers and finding a parchment to write the werewolf's stats on.

.

"Should you get something to eat?" He suggested, when the silence had stretched uncomfortably. "The potion, does it make you sick?"

"Sometimes." Remus said. "The Russian roulette aspect kills the appetite. And I don't tend to feel hungry… on the full moon."

"What's it like?" McKinnon asked him. "Changing?"

"Painful." Remus said, with little emotion. "And humiliating. Usually painful enough to make it less humiliating than it could be, I suppose."

"Do you think you're a dark creature?" McKinnon asked. The gold flecked eyes met his for a moment, making him flush with embarrassment, although he felt spurred on to ask, regardless, by the possibility of the other man's imminent death.

"Yes." Remus said. "When I change, I become a monster."

"But the rest of the time, the other twenty seven days of the month… do you feel… human?"

.

The smile was polite. "Yes," he said. "I imagine so, as far as I can judge it. Although, presumably the Devil himself would be inclined to claim the same thing."

"But you're not lying," McKinnon pointed out.

"I don't know." Remus said. He sighed, staring restlessly around the room for a moment. "No." He conceded. "I suppose… I feel human, I imagine. But a dark creature would say the same thing."

"Or cackle inanely and froth at the mouth." McKinnon said. Remus stared at him for a moment, in obvious surprise. It was an awkward joke, but McKinnon felt awkward. Impossibly awkward. What did you say to someone you had probably just deliberately poisoned?

.

He took the parchment and asked Remus for his pulse, carefully writing down his stats and any observations on his pallor and demeanour, as if he was a medical experiment. He _was_ a medical experiment.

.

"How do you feel?" He asked. "Medically."

"I don't know." Remus said, sounding slightly too calm again. "The same as ever, I suppose."

"I'm really sorry." McKinnon blurted out, feeling a hot clammy embarrassment rising to the surface of his skin. "I don't know what to say."

"Perhaps you'd feel more comfortable if I went back to my cell?" Remus suggested, politely.

"No." McKinnon said. He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. "No. I'm sorry." He said, managing to at least sound like he was as calm as the werewolf. "Unless you want to be on your own."

For a moment he was certain Remus would say he did want to be alone, sure he was considering it. "Maybe some water," he said, finally. "If you don't mind."

"No. Of course," He scanned the room before using his wand to conjure some. "Or tea." He said, each word feeling clumsy in his mouth.

He was surprised and vaguely relieved when Remus agreed, turning away to make a pot.

.

"It's nice, talking." Remus said, behind his back. "I read about some of your work in The Prophet."

"Getting convictions on Death Eaters?" McKinnon asked, because to the best of his knowledge he'd only ever been written about in the Prophet once. "Yes. I'm back in my old department mostly now."

"Regulating beasts."

"I'm not meant to be here." McKinnon glanced round at him, glad to see the quirk of a smile on the other man's lips. He pulled his eyes away and finished making the tea. They drank it in silence. Remus was actually starting to look pale, a sheen of sweat on his smooth skin.

.

"I'll take you back to your room." McKinnon concluded. "You should probably be resting." He watched Remus grope for words, before catching his arm. "Are you alright?" He asked, anxiously. Remus nodded. McKinnon was not stupid. Clearly Remus was not, nor was he happy to be resting heavily against McKinnon's arm. McKinnon kept hold of him, supporting him as they staggered back into the corridor.

.

McKinnon hadn't seen the werewolf's living quarters before. He was actually appalled at the empty stone cell. Despite his rapidly deteriorating state, the other man clearly noticed, removing his arm and holding the wall. "I'll be fine." He said; hissed.

"Yes, of course." McKinnon stammered. "I am sorry. I'm truly sorry."

"It's fine." Remus hissed again. "It's… I loved him, you know. I really loved him."

"I know." McKinnon said, calmly. "I saw your flat."

"Yes…" Remus agreed, his eyes threatening to roll into his head, as he stumbled and fell hard onto his knees. McKinnon took his arm again, searching for anything to help him to, before supporting him carefully to his knees on the stone floor.

"I'm sorry." Remus panted, blinked a lot but seemed unable to bring him back into focus.

"This is horrific!" Jarl blurted out, finally, hearing his voice rising. "Is there somewhere else?"

"You sound like him." Remus said, head for a moment lolled back, before he jerked it back, blinking, panting. "Your hair..." he added, "It reminds me… it's like that."

"Right," Jarl said, pulling himself together. "Can you just… rest against the wall while I get Damocles, please."

"He'll be busy," Remus panted, I had rising to struggle aginst constriction in his throat, that must be internal. "…with the others."

"I don't care," Jarl said, honestly. "I really don't care. You shouldn't have done this. We shouldn't have done this."

"It wasn't…" he stopped, clearing his throat wheezily again. "It wasn't voulantery, on my part." He managed. "Look… please can you…"

"What? Anything?" Jarl cried, taking hold of the other man's hot, dry hand.

"Please can you keep still," Remus forced out, rather firmly.

Jarl did keep still, squatting on the scrubbed stone floor, holding Remus' hand in his own.

"Please speak." Remus panted. "Please."

"I need to get help," Jarl said, as calmly as he could. "I need you to…"

"_Keep still!" _Remus interrupted him sharply. "Please… I can't see it's you, when you're…" he gave over to shallow panting, while Jarl hunched, next to him, reaching forward finally and moving the other man's hair out of his eyes. He realised now that he'd assumed Remus had wanted to pretend it wasn't him holding his hand, but it had been the opposite.

Taking a calming breath, he changed position so they were sitting side by side against the wall. He kept Remus' hand, the other man's grip as constant as his heavy panting. For a while DJarl listened, having forgotten entirely that Remus had asked him to speak. Eventually he did remember and cleared his own throat, taking, when nothing else would come to his mind, about his sister, Marley, seven years dead.

When Damocles arrived in the doorway, he could honestly say he had no idea what he was talking about, nor if Remus was conscious.

"Do something!" he demanded, frantically. "Don't let him die!"

"Group B are all dead," Damocles told him, at once. He came over to lift Remus' eyelids, peering at him for a moment, before unstoppering a corked bottle and pushing a dram of liquid between his lips.

Remus hissed, his breath coming in rapid pants.

"Keep giving it to him,"Damocles said, looking for Jarl. "And don't let him speak or touch his throat." And he scuttled back out of the room.

"Stay with him!" Jarl juggled the bottle, snatching for the other man's shoulder. "Do I cast Anapneo?"

"If he can't breathe." Damocles said, in surprise. "Obviously. You're hurting my shoulder."

I need you to help him," Jarl cried, "I'm sorry but, you don't understand."

"I do," Damocles assured him. "But there are still four werewolves alive in this group. You see to that one and I will do the other three by myself. And take notes, JArl. Please, take notes, or it's for nothing."

Jarl did not take notes. He cast Anapneo twice, to releave the unidentifiable constriction on Remus' throat, and held him against his chest, forcing tiny roplets of the cold clear liquid between his cracked lips, until the bottle was empty.

"What the hell are you doing?" A burly guard shouted angrily at him.

"He can't breathe," Jarl snapped, ignoring him largely as he cast Anapneo for the third time, and watching Remus gasp hissing lungfulls of air.

"Get out!" the guard came into the room, wand brandished at the barely conscious werewolf, as he reached for Jarl's shoulder.

"Leave us be," Jarl warned him. "Tell Damocles he has to come back."

"_Get out of the cell!_" The guard shouted at him. Remus' eyes snapped open, bloodshot and unfocused, as he snatched for Jarl's hand.

"Change," he hissed, urgently. "Change… Now…"

The guard's boot slammed into his wrist, knocking his grip off Jarl's hand.

"Get out now!" he screamed in Jarl's face, throwing him at the door, although Remus' words had suddenly sunken in, and Jarl did scramblethrough the door, standing numbly in the corridor what the guard threw bolts across it, warding it with his wand. "…Stupid fool," he snapped at Jarl, shaking his head before he stalked off down the corridor.

The moon hung fat and heavy in the sky, a pregnant silver orb, like a prophet's ball, while the cursed creatures, surrounding their room, howled in eerie unison.

Damocles Belby scribbled a lot of notes, while two of the guards made tea and handed around biscuits.

Jarl sat by the fire, holding a mug and watching the vases and tubes, where the pink liquid had changed to a foamy black, congealing and blocking the pipes.

The bodies of the Group B werewolves had been left in their cells. The guards and Damocles were in complete agreement that everyone should remain inside until sunrise, so as to cause the transformed werewolves as little disruption as possible.

The guards slept. Damocles wrote. Jarl sat by the dying fire with no way of knowing if Remus was even alive. If he was alive, Jarl was going to end this, the whole experiment. He was going to do something about the facility. About the cells devoid of even a bed or a bucket to defecate in. There would be furniture. There would be a bookcase in every room and some sort of schooling for the children. He didn't know, only that these thoughts helped a little with the passing of the night, before he waited for Remus' cell to be reopened.

He was expecting Remus to be dead. Towards the very end of the night he dozed off, and star4ted awake twice, as his mind treated him to dreamy precreations of the corpse on the floor.

He couldn't shake the feeling that Remus probably would have survived, if Jarl had staed with him, to keep his airway open and to feed him droplets of that potion. He needed another bottle. Had. He _had_ needed another bottle.

Although he would have preferred Damocles not to, the potioneer abandoned his work, to come with Jarl and the guard to Remus' cell first.

Bound by the requirements of normal behaviour, although he felt anything but, Jarl stood back and waited while the guard removed the wards and the bolt, pulling open the heavy door and staring down onto the cell in silence for a moment before he sighed, heavily.

"Ripped to pieces," he said, with an irritated sigh.

Damocles put a hand on Jarl's arm, but didn't fight as he pulled free, forcing himself around the door.

"Remus," he breathed, astonishment that the other man was alive washing over him, rendering him utterly beyond other considerations.

"Actually," the guard added, "It doesn't matter. We'll swap them round, yeah?"

"Thank you," Remus mouthed. Jarl let Damocles move around him, uncorking another bottle of the transparent potion and thrusting it on him.

"I'll see how many of the others survived." Damocles said, "Give them five minutes,"

"Rather him than me," the guard said, following Damocles out of the cell.

Jarl carefully help the bottle to Remus' lips, watching him swallow.

"Please, go out," he hissed, grimacing as he tried to ignore some pain.

"Let me help you drink this." Jarl said. "…And no," he added, abruptly. "No. Merlin. Shit. You shouldn't be alone."

Remus closed his eyes. For a moment he did look quite composed, but then every muscle in his face seemed to convulse and deform, before he could cover it with his blood-stained hands.

Jarl removed his cloak and wrapped it round the other man, holding him, awkwardly.

"…I'm sorry," he added, rubbing Remus' shaking shoulders through the thick black cloth. "I lost everyone, the year Marley died. Not really very good at this. Really can't leave you alone now, though. You're alive though. _You are alive_."

"We didn't…" Remus stammered finally, his voice still hoarse, "Didn't… take notes."

Jarl, leaning in to try and understand what he was saying, laughed.

"Right now I really don't care." He said.

"…Sorry." Remus whispered. "…I'll regret it in twenty seven days."

And that was the problem, of course. That hit Jarl like the bucket of water thrown into the cell moments later. Remus had not escaped. He had survived until the next month. He was never going to get through this, never going to come out the otherside. He was going to be forced to redo it, again and again, until some God more merciful than the one Jarl had prayed to last night, deemed that he had had enough and let him die.

It was a horror of an existence, unwillingly forced on him and Jarl was not sure that he wanted to volunteer himself to suffer indefinitely, as he had done last night.

And then the guards icy water hit him, exploding over them both and the dirty cell.

"Get against the wall, Lupin!" The guard yelled, furiously, seeing Jarl a moment later and stepping back quickly. "Didn't know you were in here," he apologised, eyeing up the soaked clothing in alarm. "Have to keep the cells clean, sir," he explained, humbly. "Filthy animals shit themselves half the time, and the blood is infectious. _Get against the wall, Lupin!_ _You're lucky we've got corpses, cause there isn't a single rag left in the box to swap yours with. How many times do you have to be told to take them off before your transform, you stupid animal!_"

"Get out of this room," Jarl said, levelling his wand on the man's face. "_Now._"

"I'm just doing my job," the man told him, looking impossibly offended. "He knows he's meant to stand against the wall till the cells sluced down. He knows he's t' take off his robe before he changes."

Jarl forced himself to calm down.

"Yes," he lowered his wand, turning and helping Remus to his feet. "Stay here," he told him, before using his wand to dry and warm the cloak around Remus' shoulders.

"Glad he's alright," Damocles said, as soon as Jarl entered the room. "We lost seven. Need to choose replacements as soon as possible, get them weighed and examined."

"Eight," Jarl said. "I want you to replace Remus. I can't do that again, every month."

"My dear boy…" Damocles said. Jarl ignored him, pulling out a chair and falling onto it.

"He just can't. And he fought for us, in the war. He should be allowed some sort of clemency."

"I did tell you about the test subjects in the original Group B." Damocles reminded him, worriedly. "It's always Group B."

"Pull him out the trial," Jarl told him. "He's only taken it once a month and there's no other choice at this point."

"Yes, of course," Damocles relented, crossing the room to put a hand on Jarl's shoulder. "Of course. I don't really think it's much of a life you are saving him for," he pointed out. "But of course, I'll remove him from the trial and keep an eye on him during the transformation."

.

Retured to the second flat Remus had shared with Sirius Black, the one not destroyed by fire, he studied the wall of pictures. He tried and failed to remove the photograph of Remus sleeping with his pet rat, and a sketch that was clearly of the same animal, but everything had been fixed in place with impressive permenant sticking charms – presumably why the Auora's had left 4them, as well. F4or a while he stared at the beadstead with its torn and slowly decaying linen, before finding his eyes catching on a carving on the wall that he realised was a calendar of the moon's cycle, painfully aware as he now was, of its fluctuations.

There was a sole candlestick near the wall carving on which a wolf threw back its head, howling up at the starry heavens. There were few personal posessions in the flat, and the candle stick drew him, because of this and more so because he had not, to this point, imagined Remus took any delight in his affliction. Werewolves that did, existed, but they tended to be the wizard hating variety that Remus had helped to destroy.

It wasn't until he'd left and returned for a second appraisal did he realise the wolf was howling at a completely moonless sky.

"I hear you've been looking for me," a voice burst out of the stillness, causing Jarl to drop the heavy candlestick onto the bed. He swung round to find Albus Dumbledore, his former headmaster.

"Albus," he took his hand at once, shaking it as he recovered from the surprise. "I didn't expect you to come looking for me."

"I had the hour free," he smiled at Jarl's expression, before taking the candlestick off the bed and looking at it as well. "…How strange," he said, mildly, tapping a single sparkling star, before lifting it from its setting and to examine the diamond it had been made from.

$$Jarl said nothing, not entirely comfortable with watching what was possibly Remus' last an4d only possession being defaced.

"I don't think it's meant to glorify his condition," he pointed out. "It's a wolf howling at a moonless sky."

"Indeed," Dumbledore agreed. "It quite slipped my notice at the time and I found it rather puzzling when he made it."

"Remus Lupin?"

"Yes," Albus smiled up at him for a moment before letting the diamond fall from the tip of his wand and vanish into the mouldering covers. "In transfiguration in his sixth year, I believe. Minerva was slightly unnerved by it, as well. Sadly we were always watching for some sign that he was not the dear boy he clearly was. $It was a set of two…" he added, glancing around the room, suddenly. "I believe, it was. Silly boy… Never mind. What can I do for you, Jarl?"

"I want to get him released from the $WCC. He hasn't commited a crime. He fought with us. It isn't acceptable to leave him there."

"I don't believe he has anywhere else to go," the headmaster told him, putting the candlestick down on the bed.

"Yes, he does." Jarl told him. "And this won't be finished until he's released."

"Well, perhaps you should try asking politely, signing a few forms, paying a few clarks," Albus shrugged.

"I wanted to speak to you first," Jarl explained. "I don't know of anyone else who knew him, to defend him."

"I don't know how innocent he was, in the end," Albus told him. "Love can make fools of all of us."

"He was loyal to you," Jarl told him, firmly. "Black had him fooled as easily as he fooled everyone else."

"Love is never that simple." Albus said. "I trusted Sirius. Everybody trusted Sirius."

"That's all he's guilty of and I don't see you rotting in a cell for it," Jarl pointed out. "Just because he isn't human, doesn't mean he doesn't suffer or feel pain, as we do."

Apparently surprised, Albus considered this for some time.

"Indeed." He said, finally. "I will write a letter of support if you need it, but I find it hard to believe that you will have difficulty removing him from the WCC, with your position in The Ministry."

"Thank you," Jarl assured him, and he shook Albus' hand again before picking the silvery jewel carefully off the bed and returning it to its setting. "Forgive me," he added, seeing the teacher's expression. "But perhaps he would want to keep it."

"It would be telling if he did," Albus agreed. "I'm sure you know you're astronomy, Jarl. I believe I taught a couple of those lessons to you, myself. Write with news, won't you."

Jarl watched the old man leave the room, heard the crack of disapparation that had not forewarned of his arrival, and turned back to study the starry constulations, carved into the candlestick's upper trunk, although it took him only a moment to find Orion's belt, the archer's arrow, and to see that the single glittering gemstone, that the wolf was calling to, was of course the dog star, Sirius.

.

There were no sympathetic ears for werewolves. Barely tolerated before the war, they had banded with Voldemort during the war, infecting, mutilating and murdering children, at his command. The attacks had been brutal and shockingly successful in encouraging parents to choose loyalty to Voldemort, in preference.

Understandably, no one wanted anything to do with a werewolf, even one that had betrayed its ownkind. There was no place in society for werewolves. As far as Jarl knew there were no others free in the country.

He took Remus to Knockturn Alley, which seemed to be the right sort of place for such a creature, and paid for him to room in a guest house, warning him not to leave the room, although he cast every ward he could think of on the door, to keep him inside.

He wanted to believe that Remus wouldn't try to escape, he had no way of knowing what he would actually do. Technically he was released as a research subject for Damocles, until the end of the year, when his Wolfsbane Trial would need to get new financial backing. In reality he was out of the WCC only because Jarl couldn't bring himself to leave him there, even though there was no other place to take him. There was no place in the world for a werewolf.


End file.
